Soul sisters ... separated by a century

Published: Monday, March 18, 2013 at 6:55 a.m.

Last Modified: Monday, March 18, 2013 at 6:55 a.m.

I was born on March 29, 1946. OK, there — it is out in public. I can nevermore (not that I ever have) lie about my age.

Lots of people like to fudge about their age — add a year or two if they're underage and want some beer, or shave off a few years if they've reached “a certain stage in life” but don't want anyone to know precisely which stage. But if at some future time I should be tempted to do likewise, that option is now off the table.

So maybe you're wondering — why am I telling you this? What was I thinking, blurting out my birthday like that? Well, I'm glad you asked. I have a story to tell you, so settle in.

I like to exercise, and prefer the outdoors whenever the weather is nice. One of my favorite places to jog is Oakdale Cemetery over on Route 64. It's an old cemetery, with the earliest tombstones dating to well before the Civil War.

Feeding off my love of history, I just love old cemeteries. There are so many stories lurking there, and many are right on the tombstones. Where you see a row of tiny ones for several children lined up, you can imagine the tragedy for the parents. Or when you see a long-married husband and wife who died within days or months of each other, there's a peace in knowing one of them wasn't alone for long.

Just read the names — it's fun to see what parents of other eras named their kids.

I look at dates, too. I like to see if any match up to dates related to my family. Was someone born or did they die on my brother's birthday, or that of my daughter, for instance? Hard to explain the attraction — maybe it's just a way to connect.

Anyway, so there I was one day, jogging along, and I spotted this one. The birthday was March 29, 1846.

Whoa there. I just stopped cold. I stood and stared at the tombstone. Was that really right? Yep, it was. Not off by a day or two, not off by a year or two — but 100 years to the day. It was for me, as I like to call times like this, A Moment. I walked slowly on but did not forget.

For some reason, I didn't make note of exactly where in the cemetery the grave was located. I failed to notice when she died. Heck, I didn't even pay attention to the name. How could I have done that?

It took several more trips and walking around before I finally found the tombstone again. This time, I did note those things. Her name was Texana Hipp, and I saw that she died in 1940 at age 94. I'm taking this as a good omen.

I've already mentioned my love of history, but my interest is in the ideas and people rather than the dry recitation of facts and figures. Since I discovered Texana, I've been thinking about her life and mine — same age but different stories, separated by a century — and the history each of us experienced.

In 1860, Texana was 14 and saw the country moving inexorably toward Civil War. In 1960, I was in the ninth grade and watched the Kennedy-Nixon debate on TV. I was enthralled with Kennedy. In her time, I wonder if Texana favored Abraham Lincoln or Jefferson Davis? She lived through the assassination of Lincoln when she was 19. At age 17, I watched the assassination of John F. Kennedy — it was the defining event of my senior year in high school. Which leads me to wonder about the education Texana received.

In 1903, at age 57, Texana would have heard about the first airplane flight at Kitty Hawk. Did she ever fly on a plane? By that age, I had worked for the U.S. Air Force for many years and flown all over the world. When I was 57, I was working an overseas assignment in England. Had Texana ever gone that far from her home? And had that home always been Hendersonville?

I think about her at the same age I am now. Women being able to vote was still seven years away. Did she ever vote? If so, was it for Warren Harding, or Herbert Hoover, or FDR? I, on the other hand, have always had that right.

Finally, I wonder about the years to come. I know what was going on when Texana was 75 or 80. What history will I experience at those ages?

Everyone has people who were born exactly 100 years before their own birthday. I was lucky enough to find one of mine and put a name to her. If you haven't found yours, I invite you to imagine that person, and picture his or her life history as it compares to yours. It will be a fun exercise.

Next week, on our mutual birthday, I will take flowers to Texana's grave. I think of her as a spirit relative, as if we are soul sisters born of different mothers, separated by a century — exactly.

Dawn Kucera is a Hendersonville resident. She can be reached at dawnkucera@gmail.com.

<p>I was born on March 29, 1946. OK, there — it is out in public. I can nevermore (not that I ever have) lie about my age.</p><p>Lots of people like to fudge about their age — add a year or two if they're underage and want some beer, or shave off a few years if they've reached “a certain stage in life” but don't want anyone to know precisely which stage. But if at some future time I should be tempted to do likewise, that option is now off the table.</p><p>So maybe you're wondering — why am I telling you this? What was I thinking, blurting out my birthday like that? Well, I'm glad you asked. I have a story to tell you, so settle in.</p><p>I like to exercise, and prefer the outdoors whenever the weather is nice. One of my favorite places to jog is Oakdale Cemetery over on Route 64. It's an old cemetery, with the earliest tombstones dating to well before the Civil War.</p><p>Feeding off my love of history, I just love old cemeteries. There are so many stories lurking there, and many are right on the tombstones. Where you see a row of tiny ones for several children lined up, you can imagine the tragedy for the parents. Or when you see a long-married husband and wife who died within days or months of each other, there's a peace in knowing one of them wasn't alone for long.</p><p>Just read the names — it's fun to see what parents of other eras named their kids.</p><p>I look at dates, too. I like to see if any match up to dates related to my family. Was someone born or did they die on my brother's birthday, or that of my daughter, for instance? Hard to explain the attraction — maybe it's just a way to connect.</p><p>Anyway, so there I was one day, jogging along, and I spotted this one. The birthday was March 29, 1846.</p><p>Whoa there. I just stopped cold. I stood and stared at the tombstone. Was that really right? Yep, it was. Not off by a day or two, not off by a year or two — but 100 years to the day. It was for me, as I like to call times like this, A Moment. I walked slowly on but did not forget.</p><p>For some reason, I didn't make note of exactly where in the cemetery the grave was located. I failed to notice when she died. Heck, I didn't even pay attention to the name. How could I have done that?</p><p>It took several more trips and walking around before I finally found the tombstone again. This time, I did note those things. Her name was Texana Hipp, and I saw that she died in 1940 at age 94. I'm taking this as a good omen.</p><p>I've already mentioned my love of history, but my interest is in the ideas and people rather than the dry recitation of facts and figures. Since I discovered Texana, I've been thinking about her life and mine — same age but different stories, separated by a century — and the history each of us experienced.</p><p>In 1860, Texana was 14 and saw the country moving inexorably toward Civil War. In 1960, I was in the ninth grade and watched the Kennedy-Nixon debate on TV. I was enthralled with Kennedy. In her time, I wonder if Texana favored Abraham Lincoln or Jefferson Davis? She lived through the assassination of Lincoln when she was 19. At age 17, I watched the assassination of John F. Kennedy — it was the defining event of my senior year in high school. Which leads me to wonder about the education Texana received.</p><p>In 1903, at age 57, Texana would have heard about the first airplane flight at Kitty Hawk. Did she ever fly on a plane? By that age, I had worked for the U.S. Air Force for many years and flown all over the world. When I was 57, I was working an overseas assignment in England. Had Texana ever gone that far from her home? And had that home always been Hendersonville?</p><p>I think about her at the same age I am now. Women being able to vote was still seven years away. Did she ever vote? If so, was it for Warren Harding, or Herbert Hoover, or FDR? I, on the other hand, have always had that right.</p><p>Finally, I wonder about the years to come. I know what was going on when Texana was 75 or 80. What history will I experience at those ages?</p><p>Everyone has people who were born exactly 100 years before their own birthday. I was lucky enough to find one of mine and put a name to her. If you haven't found yours, I invite you to imagine that person, and picture his or her life history as it compares to yours. It will be a fun exercise.</p><p>Next week, on our mutual birthday, I will take flowers to Texana's grave. I think of her as a spirit relative, as if we are soul sisters born of different mothers, separated by a century — exactly. </p><p>Dawn Kucera is a Hendersonville resident. She can be reached at dawnkucera@gmail.com.</p>